


we find love, we get up

by bluu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Falling In Love, Feelings, Graduation, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 02:25:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16008329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluu/pseuds/bluu
Summary: Boys like Yahaba, boys who are student council treasurer with parted hair and an almost-perfect GPA, don’t like boys who are rumored to be involved with yakuza. See, it simply isn’t practical.





	we find love, we get up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [armyofskanks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofskanks/gifts).



> DISCLAIMER: i wrote most of this when i was drunk. it is also unedited. do not @ me.  
> for [ karinne,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofskanks/pseuds/armyofskanks) you dumb bitch

Falling in love with Kyoutani, Yahaba discovers, is easy. There is an elegant grace to the way he moves, sharp movements marked by sneers and glares — the kind of elegance that screams danger in a way that has an aftertaste of _don’t touch me_ and a sprinkle of _but I dare you to try._ Kyoutani’s got two methodical black stripes around the circumference of his head, like concentric circles in geometry class, cutting through the blond buzz cut on his forehead, a recipe for disaster. Like a bumblebee, yellow like a warning sign but sweet like fresh honey. Pouty, angry lips in a frown in protest, veiny hands and smudged eyeliner.

It’s easy, god dammit, it’s too fucking easy, the way Kyoutani reserves his little smiles, little amused quirks on his lips, for when Yahaba lets down his guard around him. It’s like breathing when Yahaba smiles back at the way Kyoutani’s face softens. Sometimes it feels like Yahaba doesn’t know anything but the sound of his own name on Kyoutani’s tongue — sometimes chiding, sometimes frustrated, otherwise _fond_ — like it was made to be there in the first place.

“Yahaba _,”_ Kyoutani whispers, like a prayer, in his ear. “Let’s go home.”

 _Home,_ Yahaba thinks miserably. “Yeah.”

 

-

 

They walk home together, and it’s just that — warm sunshine waning to soft shadows that danced next to each other as their steps fell in tandem with each other: one, two.

 

-

 

It’s a long time coming. They never got along, of course, but there is something in the way that Kyoutani just rubbed on every single fucking one of his nerves. Yahaba generally tries to be a very nice guy; he styles his hair to the side, smiles and waves at girls in the hallway, asks his teachers polite questions until they develop a love for his intellectual curiosity and desire to improve.

Kyoutani, however, is anything but that. He barely shows up to class, and when he does, he only shows for physics and chemistry, and for those quizzes he holds the top seat for having the highest test average, like he’s some sort of goddamn STEM genius. There are rumors that Kyoutani is in the yakuza, or some other delinquent gang, or something equally as ridiculous and dangerous.

When Yahaba is the typical good kid, student council treasurer with parted hair and an almost-perfect GPA. It’s hard to convey how much he likes the way Kyoutani’s calves seized as he jumped to spike a toss of _his._

“Let’s go home,” Kyoutani says again, after practice one day. And with that, Yahaba’s heart is in his throat.

 

-

 

But Yahaba doesn’t know how to tell Kyoutani that home is him. Home is the way Kyoutani’s hand lingers on his own back when they were in group huddles, pep talks before games, or how his fingers brush across his own hand when they walked side by side together. Home is being ace and captain, wing-spiker and setter. Home is the way Kyoutani looks at him when he thinks Yahaba isn’t looking.

The thing is this: Yahaba knows that Kyoutani loves him back.

So why couldn’t he say anything?

 

-

 

“Yahaba,” Watari chirps, a straw in his mouth as he speaks, “maybe you should tell him how you feel.”

“Watari,” Yahaba says slowly, “please strangle yourself.”

Watari, completely unaffected, continues on chewing at his onigiri. “I think you guys are so stupid.”

“Your opinions are unnecessary to me, thank you,” Yahaba responds, dusting off his fingers on his pants.

“You know he likes you back,” Watari continues without blinking, “so why don’t you say anything?”

“I’m so glad that liberos can’t be captains,” Yahaba cuts him off, unready to hear this conversation. “They sure have no idea what they’re talking about.”

 

-

 

But Watari is a libero. His job is to read plays and predict the trajectory of the ball so he can save it; of course he knows what he’s talking about, his observation skills are refined both on the court and off it. Watari knows exactly what he’s talking about when he tells Yahaba that _you guys have so much sexual tension it hurts me_ and that _Kyoutani’s staring at you for the the fifth time this past half an hour._

“Stop looking at me like that,” Yahaba grumbles to his friend, who’s been giving him meaningful glances when he’s not bumping a ball on his straightened wrists in a rally to himself.

Watari lets the ball fall down to the ground with a thump. “You know, it’s one thing not to tell him because you think it’s unrequited. It’s another thing to not say anything _when you know_ he has feelings for you back. He comes to class for you and you guys walk home together every day. He drops off a canned coffee for you when you stay late for student council activities. I could go on.”

“Don’t,” Yahaba says, picking up the ball from the ground and walking away. “You wouldn’t understand, anyway.”

 

-

 

This is why Yahaba can’t tell Kyoutani he loves him. They’re third-years now, and Yahaba just got into Tohoku University for a double major in financial economics and business management. He’s not playing volleyball because his parents are expecting to come home with an internship at a bank and a girlfriend on his arm.

This is why Yahaba can’t tell Kyoutani he loves him: once, when he was younger, his mother told him that she never loved his father and she would never need to, because sometimes you needed to be practical in life, and love wasn’t practical. Love is never practical.

And neither is Kyoutani, dyed hair with a piercing in his ear and working part-time at a pet store when taking biology classes at the local community college nearby. Nothing is practical about the way Yahaba wants to card his fingers through Kyoutani’s cropped hair and find out if it’s as fuzzy as it looks, nothing is practical about the way Yahaba wants to see what Kyoutani looks like in the morning, next to him, warm like yellow sunshine.

Boys like Yahaba, boys who are student council treasurer with parted hair and an almost-perfect GPA, don’t like boys who are rumored to be involved with yakuza. See, it simply isn’t practical.

 

-

 

(But here’s the thing: Yahaba isn’t the perfect picture straight-A student. He cheated on his college entrance exam, and he doesn’t really feel bad about it, and he ditches student council meetings to go play extra volleyball sometimes. And Kyoutani isn’t involved with the yakuza. He’s a little rough around the edges but he loves animals and his family something fierce, especially his younger sister. He wants to study zoology because he wants to help the dolphins.

When he thinks about it like that — maybe it isn’t too impractical. But then he hears his mom, telling him that _love doesn’t matter,_ and he tries to forget about it.)

 

-

 

“I like you,” Kyoutani says bluntly, and Yahaba almost chokes on his protein bar.

“What,” Yahaba says eventually, after he recovers from nearly suffocating on his food.

“I like you,” Kyoutani repeats, rolling his eyes as they keep walking on the same crosswalk back from their practices. “And I know you like me back, you slimy bastard, don’t even try lying to me or some shit.”

Yahaba frowns. “Only you would insult someone when giving a confession.”

“Are you going to respond?” Kyoutani retorts, apparently getting impatient.

“Well, since you already know the answer,” Yahaba sighs, wringing his fingers. This is precisely why he didn’t want to tell Kyoutani anything. “I don’t think I need to, right?”

“There has to be a reason why we haven’t made out against the gym walls yet,” Kyoutani grumbles, which sends little electric sparks running down his spine. Yahaba ignores them.

“We’re going to different colleges,” Yahaba explains, feeling a cold iron fist close around his heart, “we’re both going to be busy. We graduate in a month. There isn’t any _time,_ Kyou, and I’d rather not start things I can’t finish. You never have been good at looking towards the future.”

Kyoutani lets out a heavy sigh through his teeth, like he was expecting exactly that — defeated, but unsurprised. “We could just be fuck buddies.”

Yahaba laughs, and it cracks in his throat and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “I think I like you a little too much for that.”

“Yeah,” Kyoutani mutters, shoulders slumping, “me too.”

 

-

 

Things get worse from there on out. Now that both of them know that their feelings are mutual, it’s almost unbearable to be around Kyoutani, the tension thick enough to suffocate. When Kyoutani brushes up against him now, Yahaba really wants to die. He wants more than fleeting touches and brief glances and unspoken words. Fuck, he wants to wake up next to Kyoutani.

But Yahaba is going to Tohoku University and Kyoutani is attending Sendai Local Community College and Yahaba is going into financial consulting and investment banking like his father, working insane amount of hours a week and networking until he passes out.

Love?

It simply isn’t practical, you see.

 

-

 

(When both of them had a little too much to drink at the graduation party, and Kyoutani’s whispering on his lips, _live a fucking little, Shigeru,_ Yahaba forgets everything about his future and his parents and drowns in the feeling of Kyoutani’s mouth, softer than the rumors could ever imagine he could be. It’s everything Yahaba expected and more.

 _You think too goddamn much,_ Kyoutani murmurs, _don’t make things so complicated._

How could I not, Yahaba thinks, I love you.

But they kiss in the bathroom of Watari’s apartment and sometimes the best things just make sense without any explanation behind it. Kyoutani’s hands cupping his face and the warmth, the comfort of his body pressed on to his — well, it’s not practical, but it makes sense. There’s nothing other than this: the two of them, the worst of circumstances, the unlikeliest of situations, and comfort in each other, fireflies to a lamp. Inevitable, and kind of beautiful.)

 

-

 

“Do you think we’ll figure it out?”

“Yeah. You’re not moving out the prefecture or anything. I’ll visit you in your dumb expensive dorm.”

“But my parents?”

“Live your fucking life, Shigeru. It’s not theirs.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Maybe I don’t. My parents have never wanted me to go work in a stuffy pretentious job and work until I literally die. But parents should want happiness for their kids. And if…”

“If?”

“...If I make you happy, then fuck them.”

“You’ve never been good at looking towards the future, Kyou.”

“...Whatever.”

 

-

 

Once, when he was younger, his mother told him that the best things in life are won through blood, sweat, and tears.

It’s not easy. It probably will never be. But Yahaba fights. Kyoutani is a little rough around the edges but he loves Yahaba something fierce and one day, he’ll love him back with the same unwavering confidence.

Yahaba and Kyoutani, inevitable, impossible, _impractical_ — is there anything other than this?

 

-

 

“... of course you make me happy. How could you not? I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> trial by fire chapter eight is coming soon... pls be patient  
> [ tweeter ](https://twitter.com/oikawatcoru)


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